


Samhain Still Sucks

by RiverSongTam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, F/F, Firefly References, Friendship, Gen, Halloween Costumes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverSongTam/pseuds/RiverSongTam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam get a call from Charlie and learn the dead are visiting their loved ones in her town. When they arrive to help her investigate, they suspect someone may be trying to raise their friend Samhain again, which of course means dealing with Dean's favorite thing-witches! </p><p>This story takes place on a hypothetical Halloween between "Pac Man Fever" and "Slumber Party."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Samhain Still Sucks

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely Beta, bluesailor!

_October 29th_

Sam and Dean sat settled in the bunker’s library for the evening, Sam curled up with some six-inch thick tome written in Middle English, Dean with a battered copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_. When Dean’s phone buzzed, he peered at the caller ID for a second before his eyes crinkled at the corners, a grin lighting up his face.

“Charlie,” he said. “How’s our woman of letters?”

“Um, great, great,” Charlie’s voice crackled through the speaker, a little higher than usual, tense. “Except for the part where the dead are partying all through town like it’s Nearly Headless Nick’s 500th deathday party.”

“ _What_?” Dean demanded, passing up the opportunity to mock Charlie for being a nerd in favor of jumping up from the leather couch.

His tone caught Sam’s attention, his little brother putting his book down and staring at him with his most poignant Worried face.

“You wanna run that by me again?” Dean said into the phone.

“Sure,” Charlie chirped. “So, basically, all day long, the dead have been wandering around town popping in to say hi to their still-living loved ones like it’s no bfd.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, prompting Sam to lean forward in his seat and modify his expression to his Extremely Worried face. “Charlie—Zombieland,” Dean mouthed to Sam by way of explanation.

Judging by the look on Sam’s face, the explanation wasn’t explanatory enough.

“Ok, Charlie,” Dean rallied. “What are we talking here—spirits or zombies?”

“Spirits,” Charlie said with alarming certainty. “Lots of them. Look, I spent the day trying to get a handle on this, but it looks pretty big. Um, any chance you boys would be up for a roadtrip to Michigan?”

“On our way,” Dean said, ending the call.

Before he even stashed his phone back in his pocket, Sam was on his feet, ready to bolt to the rescue.

~ * ~  
_October 30th_  
_Farmington Hills, Michigan_

“What’s up, bitches?” Charlie greeted from the lawn, a bright yellow umbrella shielding her from the rain.

Dean locked the Impala before hurrying over to pull Charlie into an enthusiastic hug, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head without even worrying about Sam seeing. When he stepped back, it was Sam’s turn for a hug, Dean chuckling as Charlie almost brained Sam with the spokes of her umbrella—honestly, that’s what he deserved for being so freakishly tall.

“So, this your place?” Dean asked, nodded to the small duplex behind Charlie.

“Yeah,” she said, gesturing for the boys to follow her and leading the way inside.

Charlie dropped her umbrella by the door, and Dean and Sam wiped their feet on a welcome mat that said “Beam me up, Scotty!” before stepping into the kitchen after her. Charlie nodded for the boys to sit down at a fake-oak table in the corner before shuffling around the kitchen to pull three mugs out of a cupboard overhead.

“You’re getting tea,” she told them in a tone that shut down any argument Dean might otherwise consider making.

“That’s fine,” he said instead with a shrug, preferring to maintain the illusion of having some choice in the matter. “Why don’t you fill Sam and me in on the situation here.”

“Right,” Charlie said, pulling a whistling tea kettle off the burner of her stove and pouring the water into the mugs—one Tardis blue with the tell-tale doors outlined in white, one red with black circles and a Dalek eyestalk painted on, the third grey and painted to look like a Cyberman’s helmet. “So, basically, I woke up yesterday morning, and everything was normal. But then, halfway through warming up a poptart, my Mom was suddenly standing in the middle of the kitchen watching me.”

“Wait—you saw your Mom?” Sam demanded.

“Yeah,” Charlie admitted, bringing the steaming mugs of tea over to the brothers without looking at either of their faces.

“And how are you doing with that?” Sam said.

“Oh, you know,” Charlie said. “I’ve been better. I thought I’d put everything behind me the last time I saw you two, but then—”

Sam reached out and covered one of Charlie’s hands with his over-large ones. Dean met her eye with a sad half-smile, and Charlie swallowed before continuing.

“Well, anyway, that was when I realized that it was _not_ going to be a normal day after all. I called one of my friends from Moondoor—Keith, I think you met him—just to have someone to talk to, you know, calm down a bit before getting into investigation-mode. But before I could even say hello, he started babbling to me that his grandmother who’d been dead for five years was standing next to him, asking him if he’d finally proposed to his girlfriend.”

“And?” Dean prompted after a pause.

“And of course not. They broke up six months after she died,” Charlie said.

Sam raised his eyebrows, and Dean swallowed a laugh.

“Oh, right, the ghosts” Charlie said, shaking her head. “And then I started digging around. Turns out the whole ghostly visitation thing wasn’t a rare experience yesterday. People literally all over town reported dead loved ones popping up, just for a few minutes, and disappearing. And it wasn’t just people who died here, either. I mean—my Mom’s buried back in Topeka, and it was the same story with a bunch of others, as far as I could figure out.

“And then, this is the weirdest thing: it was even covered on the local news. Seems someone at the network assumed it was all some town-wide elaborate hoax. Just in time for Halloween and all.”

At the word “Halloween,” Dean groaned. He rolled his eyes and looked at Sam, who didn’t look any happier.

“Uh, guys?” Charlie said. “Want to fill me in on the not-great?”

“The dead rising—around Halloween again. It must be Samhain,” Dean said, tearing his gaze away from Sam to pin it on Charlie.

“Excuse me?” Charlie said.

“Samhain,” Sam said. “The god of the dead. According to pagan traditions—”

“No, I know who Samhain is,” Charlie said. “It’s just—why are you saying it like that? It’s pronounced _sow_ -en, guys. _Sam_ hain. Anyway, why all this fuss about Halloween? I thought that was supposed to be a dead time (pun totally intended) supernaturally speaking.”

“Uh-huh, and where’d you hear that?” Dean asked.

Charlie ducked her head down and stared at her mug of tea. “ _Buffy_ ,” she admitted.

“Well, despite what Giles may say on the subject,” Sam said.

“ _Nerd_ ,” Dean coughed into his hand.

“Halloween is definitely not a quiet time for the spirit world,” Sam continued. “That’s the night the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest.”

“It’s also the night _sow_ -en can be brought back to the land of the living,” Dean said. “Sammy and I scuffled with him before. Let’s hope this isn’t him trying to make a come-back.”

“What happened last time you say him?” Charlie asked.

“We kicked his _ass_ , is what happened,” Dean said.

“Unfortunately, he didn’t get quite as dead as we’d hoped,” Sam admitted, now blushing into his own mug of tea.

Dean was quiet for a moment, studying Sam and sipping at his own tea.

“Anyway, we don’t know it’s Samhain,” he said after an awkward silence. “You said you started digging, Charlie. What did you turn up?”

“Glad you asked,” Charlie said, jumping to her feet and scurrying back into the kitchen, grabbing a stack of papers from a counter. She returned to the table and shoved the pages at the brothers. “So, in October of 1872, a fire destroyed part of the original town of Farmington Hills.”

Charlie pulled the top sheet from the stack and pointed to a black and white photo printed from a web page, showing three charred buildings, the center one completely destroyed, nothing remaining but a blackened half-frame. Charlie pushed that page aside and rifled through until she found a copy of a news story from that year, shoving it in front of the boys.

“One fatality, Grace Smith. It was her father’s store that was at the epicenter of the fire. The rest of the family made it out, but Grace didn’t,” Charlie said, pausing as the Winchesters’ eyes scanned the document before them.

“Wait,” Dean said, pointing at a line. “Says here her sister—”

“Swore she would ensure Grace returned to the land of the living and get revenge on those responsible for her death. Word on the street at the time is that Grace and her little sister Gloria were witches—into some seriously dark magic. From what I can pick up, it seems the fire wasn’t so much an accident. You burn witches, right?” Charlie said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Only looks like Gloria made it out.”

“And our witch-bitch wasn’t too pleased about sis getting herself crispy-fried,” Dean finished. “So now what, Gloria’s spirit somehow piercing the veil? Trying to break her and big sis out?”

“That,” Sam said. “Or—she doesn’t necessarily have to be dead, does she? Remember that witch couple in Indiana? They’d been around for a while. Maybe Gloria’s still around and working out some way to bring Grace back. Everyone else might just be—piggy-packing somehow. Drawn to loved ones living nearby.”

“Right,” Charlie said. “Except—” she fished out another page from the pile, this one an obituary.

“Gloria Woodman is survived by her son, Lucius, and two daughters, Emily and Elizabeth,” Dean read at the bottom. “So Gloria got married and settled down, eh?”

Charlie nodded.

“Well,” Sam said, peering at the paper. “Are there any Woodman’s left in Farmington Hills now?”

~ * ~

The current Woodmans had a nice place, Dean decided. It was just enough on the outskirts of town to be pretentious, the way rich people lived. A wrap-around porch girded the large, white, boxy building, beveled glass windows stretching in tall frames on three stories.

The Winchesters (and the third, unofficial Winchester) stepped onto the porch, Dean pounding on the door with a fist rather than use the doorbell set in a pewter frame off to the side. He was just pulling his fist back for a second round of knocking when the door opened, revealing a woman in her mid-twenties. She was slender, almost—willowy, with dark shoulder-length curls and a pair of deep blue-green eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone formal but suspicious.

“I certainly hope so, Ma’am,” Dean said, standing a little taller, his smile professional with just a hint of playfulness. “Are you Miss Woodman?”

“Victoria Woodman, yes,” she answered.

“I’m agent Newman, this is my partner, agent Redford,” Dean said, gesturing to Sam. “And our trainee, junior agent Ross,” he finished, motioning to Charlie

“Hi,” Charlie said, stepping forward with a wide grin. “And not so junior, actually.”

“That’s right,” Dean agreed. “Almost ready to move up the ranks. As soon as she’s done learning from the best.”

Dean winked at the woman, earning him a glare from Charlie.

“O-okay,” Victoria, stepping outside and closing the door behind her. “And what is this about?”

“We’re just questioning everyone about the sightings that occurred yesterday. You didn’t happen to see anything strange, did you?” Sam asked.

“You mean the ghosts?” Victoria said, scoffing. “Agents, I assure you that was just a hoax. Someone’s sick idea of a practical joke.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said, stepping forward and studying her face. “So—I take it you didn’t see anyone then?”

“No, of course not.”

“No long-lost relatives?” Dean pressed. “And I mean _long-lost_ —like, from the 1800s?”

Victoria froze for a moment, staring at Dean like he’d just announced she was going to die in twenty-four hours. She blinked three times, and then recovered quickly, plastering a smile onto her face.

“No, agents,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was just on my way into town.”

Victoria pushed her way past the trio, striding toward the steps.

“One more thing,” Sam called after her, freezing her in place on the last stair. “This house, I believe you live here with your sister, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Victoria said. “Vanessa.”

“And what time do you expect Vanessa home?” Sam pressed.

“I don’t know, agent,” Victoria said. “You’d have to ask Vanessa. Now, is that all?”

“You may go,” Sam said.

Dean stepped towards Victoria and opened his mouth to speak, but Charlie swept in front of him.

“But if you do see anything strange,” she said, holding out a business card to Victoria. “Give me a call.”

Victoria took the card carefully, like it might bite her. She studied Charlie’s face for a moment, then turned towards a Volvo in the driveway and climbed inside, driving away without another backward glance at the “agents” on her porch.

“Really, Charlie?” Dean said. “FBI business cards? And when did you have those made up?”

“I have my secrets, Winchester,” Charlie said with a grin. “So now what?”

Dean glanced sideways at Sam, who nodded.

“Oh yeah, Victoria was definitely hiding something,” he said.

“All right—I’ll do the honors, then,” Dean said, pulling a set of lockpicks from his pocket and crouching in front of the door.

“No, let me!” Charlie said, grabbing the zippered pouch from his hand and almost elbowing Dean in the face in her hurry to get at the lock.

Dean ducked out of her way and straightened up. Sam smirked at him and then watched Charlie fiddle with the lock.

“Uh, Charlie?” Sam asked as there was a loud click, followed by Charlie pushing the door open. “Should we be worried?”

“What?” Charlie said with a shrug. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, reaching out to ruffle her bangs.

Charlie shoved his arm away, and before Dean could retaliate, Sam stepped in between then and into the Woodman sisters’ house.

The inside was just as nice as the exterior. Gleaming hardwood floors ran from wall to wall. A curving staircase rose up opposite the door, and two arching doorways opened to other wings of the house on either side. Sam and Dean both pulled out their guns, Dean gesturing for Sam to search the left wing of the house before taking the other himself, Charlie close at his heels.

Dean and Charlie stepped into what seemed to be a music room. A baby grand piano stood in the far corner, a music stand sat in front of a large bay window, and a large case nearby probably housed a cello. Dean lowered his gun and walked the periphery of the room, studying a dusty bookcase and the papered walls, scanning for signs of hidden doors. Sam appeared in the doorway a moment later.

“Living room’s clear,” he said.

“Yeah, nothing to see here either,” Dean said.

After a search of the kitchen and dining room, Dean and Charlie joined Sam in the foyer, the group heading up the stairs next.

There was nothing interesting on that level either, or the third floor. Dean spotted a hatch in the ceiling leading to an attic crawlspace, and hoping that would make their search worthwhile, he pulled the hatch open, hauling down a sliding ladder and scaling it.

“Great” he muttered, once he stood hunched over in the low ceilinged attic, surveying the space before him. “Freaking perfect.”

Behind him, Charlie’s bright hair popped up above the top of the ladder.

“Oh, wow,” she said, her eyes widening.

Dean offered her a hand and hauled her up onto the creaking floorboards beside him. Sam joined them a moment later.

“Well, looks like Victoria wasn’t as innocent as she’d like us to believe,” he said.

The trio took a moment to just look at the space from there. Sigils were painted in red on the walls. A large pentagram covered the floor with a small altar in the center. The altar (more of a bench, really) was covered with some sort of animal fur, a sheep skull sitting on top surrounded by five candles at various stages of melting. A large, leather-bound book took up most of the surface.

“Damn, I hate witches,” Dean said, stepping forward and picking up the animal skull. “And Victoria was hot too.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said with a sigh, crossing the room to a vase holding long bird feathers. “Guess she’s probably off limits, then.”

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the spell book, flipping through the velum pages.

“So, what are we thinking?” Dean asked, coming over to read over Sam’s shoulder. “The witch sisters trying to take care of Gloria’s unfinished business?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, his forehead wrinkling. “These spells, Dean—they’re not black magic.”

“Ok—so, Victoria might still be fair game, then?” Charlie asked.

“Wait, wait, what do you mean? A witch is a witch, Sam,” Dean said.

“Dean, come on,” Sam said, looking at his brother over the pages of the grimoire. “We use magic all the time. And these spells, they’re not—harmful. Look: how to bring down a fever. How to break destroy a cursed object. None of this would raise the dead.”

“Of course not,” a voice called from behind them.

All three jumped, turning around to see Victoria standing by the trapdoor to the third floor.

“I was halfway to the bakery when my talisman told me somebody crossed the threshold of my sacred space,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at them.

“Wanna run that by us again?” Dean asked.

“I put a charm on out altar, so I’d know if anyone ever invaded our space. Looks like my paranoia paid off. So, _agents_ want to explain what you’re doing breaking and entering? Oh, and manhandling my grimoire, too. That’s just impolite,” Victoria said.

“We’d be more than happy to answer your questions,” Sam said. “Once you explain about all the spirits cropping up all over town.”

Victoria chewed her bottom lip, staring at them all for several seconds. Then she let out a deep breath.

“Look, I haven’t seen any. But I have been looking into it. So far, all I’ve learned is that they’re not spirits,” she said.

“What?” Charlie said. “But—I saw my Mom. And she was—not solid.”

“No, she wouldn’t be,” Victoria said, her face softening as she turned to Charlie. “Because they’re shades. All of them.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “And what exactly is the difference?”

“A shade’s only half-dead, Sammy,” Dean said, eyes still resting on Victoria.

Sam raised his eyebrows and stared at Dean.

“He’s right,” Victoria said. “A shade hovers between life and death. A spirit’s dead but trapped here. These shades in particular are trying to return to the world of the living permanently. Become fully alive again.”

“But—how’s that possible?” Charlie said “Without their bodies, I mean—”

“Well, it shouldn’t be possible,” Victoria said. “And it isn’t—not without very powerful magic. Goddess-level magic. I was going to pick up some herbs in town for a summoning spell—see if my mother had any information she could give me from the other side, because quite frankly I don’t have a clue how this is happening.”

“Grace Smith,” Dean said, stepping toward her. “We think someone’s trying to raise her.”

Victoria’s eyes bulged, but she looked almost too scared at the news. “No,” she said. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Victoria, what does Vanessa think about this whole shade situation?” Sam asked.

Victoria glanced down at her shoes before meeting Sam’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said. “She didn’t come home last night. But—that’s not unusual. She’s my little sister, and she’s, well, rambunctious. It’s really not unusual.”

“And how good is she at the whole magic thing?” Charlie asked, setting down the turkey feather she’d been holding this whole time.

“No,” Victoria said, shaking her head. “If you’re trying to infer that any of this is Vanessa’s fault—look, you don’t know her, but I do. She’s a good person. And she’s not a strong enough witch. She wouldn’t have to power to do that or raise these shades.”

“What if she was channeling Samhain’s power?” Sam asked. “Trying to raise him? Work with him to bring Grace back?”

Victoria paled, but then shook her head again.

“No,” she said firmly. “This isn’t Vanessa’s fault. She—she wouldn’t mess around with anything that dark. Whatever’s going on here, it’s nothing to do with us. I’ve answered enough of your questions, especially considering you three broke into my home. I want you out of my house. Now!”

Charlie flinched at her tone, and took a step toward the trap door.

“All right,” she said. “But I mean it, Victoria. If you do have anything to tell us, call. We’re the good guys, I promise.”

Victoria didn’t say anything, but she watched the three descend the ladder. Feet on the floor again, Charlie glanced at Dean, frowning. He smiled and reached out, giving her arm a squeeze before leading the way to the stairs and out of the house.

~ * ~

Sam, Dean, and Charlie sat in her living room, carving stakes out of elder wood after Sam learned online that elder wood was the only thing that could kill Samhain.

“So,” Charlie said. “The plan is: we’re just going to wait until Vanessa raises Samhain tomorrow night?”

“Yup,” Dean said, glaring at Sam who looked back at him with his trademark wrinkled-forehead expression.

“And then—we kill Samhain,” Charlie said. “But won’t that mean killing whoever he’s possessing too? I mean, last time, you said he possessed some human—isn’t there, like, a code of honor about that or something?”

Dean set aside his half-finished stake and gave Charlie a sad smile.

“Yeah, kiddo,” he said. “There usually is. But Samhaim—he’s a _bad_ mofo, and I want this sucker dead this time, none of this exorcised ‘til next year crap. And me and Sammy,” Dean paused and glanced at his brother for confirmation. “We try and avoid taking out humans as much as possible, but sometimes, you have to do a whole lotta bad to do a little good.”

Sam frowned, but when Charlie turned her puppy eyes on him, he just nodded.

“We’re going to make sure it’s Vanessa Samhain’s going to possess, though—if we do have to kill a human, better it’s a really bad one, right?” Sam said.

“I—I guess so. I hope it’s ok if I leave the ‘ganking’ up to one of you guys, then?” Charlie said.

“Hell yeah, you’re gonna,” Dean said. “We don’t want you anywhere near Samhain when this goes down.”

“But, wait, I’m still helping you guys,” Charlie said. “Sam?”

“Look, Charlie,” Sam started, but a knock on the door stopped him.

The trio glanced at each other. Slowly, Dean grabbed the pistol sitting on the sofa arm next to him. He eased to his feet and slid toward the door, opening it in a hurry.

Victoria Woodman stood on the stoop. She startled when the door tugged open so abruptly, then stood fidgeting and staring at Dean.

“What do you want?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“I—I don’t want to be here,” Victoria said. She peered past Dean through the doorway, where Sam and Charlie now stood hovering to see what was up. “But, I—I spoke to Vanessa after you left earlier. And I think you’re right. I think she’s planning something terrible.”

~ * ~

Half an hour later, Victoria sat on Charlie’s daffodil yellow sofa with a steaming _Doctor Who_ mug of tea in her hands.

“How did you actually find my house?” Charlie asked after five minutes’ worth of awkward silence.

“A simple locator spell,” Victoria said. “Using your business card.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, eyes widening. “Cool. And, um, not creepy at all.”

“Did Vanessa actually tell you what she was planning?” Sam quizzed, bending down in his arm chair to meet Victoria’s eyes. Dean and Charlie sat on either side of the woman.

“No,” Victoria said, shaking her head. “But when I mentioned Grace Smith, and asked her if she knew anything about the shades—look, what you have to understand, is that coming from a family like ours—a, a family of witches, there’s a certain amount of, well, ancestor worship, that happens.

“There’s this whole family history that gets passed down through the generations. The older generations of witches are supposed to have been stronger, purer. And of course they faced persecution too. Vanessa was always—drawn to Grace and Gloria’s story. There is something sort of tragically romantic about it, I suppose. But Nessa—around high school, she became a little obsessed. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Sure it was a little—unnerving.

“But when I accosted her today, she said things—things that terrified me. She was going on about being Gloria Smith reborn. Claiming it was her duty to bring Grace back. I—I told her she was crazy,” Victoria’s voice broke.

Dean and Charlie both reached out to touch her arm, catching each other’s eye during the mirrored motion. Victoria shrugged them off and took another sip of her tea.

“It got ugly then. I’ve never been afraid of my sister before. Can you imagine what that felt like? Being afraid of your own blood?”

Sam shifted awkwardly in his own chair. Dean frowned at him from across the room and shook his head, but Sam wouldn’t meet his eye.

“So, what happened then?” Charlie prompted, still staring at Victoria.

Victoria shrugged.

“I ran. I actually ran away from my own sister,” she paused and turned her head to look at each of the others in the room in turn. “Do you really think it’s what you said earlier? Do you really think—Vanessa is trying to raise _Samhain_?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his voice soft. “Yeah, we do.”

Victoria shivered.

“We have to stop her,” she said.

“Hey, um, Victoria,” Charlie started, but froze at a glare from Dean.

Victoria glanced over at her, studying her face. Then she dropped her eyes back to her tea.

“Look,” she said. “I know she’s my sister, and I love her. But my beliefs are all about preserving the balance of nature. What Vanessa is trying to do—it’s unspeakable. I want to help in any way I can.” She lifted her eyes and stared the others down. “ _Whatever_ your plan may be.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, holding Victoria’s gaze. “Really.”

“How much do you know about the ritual to raise Samhain?” Dean asked. “We’ve run across him before, but it was different. Human sacrifices in advance, and none of these shades wandering around. That time, the dead didn’t start walking ‘til Samhain did.”

Victoria nodded.

“That might have been a more powerful witch. Vanessa—technically, she shouldn’t be strong enough to summon Samhain at all. I’d guess that’s what’s happening with the shades. Vanessa is trying to pierce the veil, but instead, it’s like—she’s weakening the whole thing. If she actually wants to raise Samhain and bring Grace back, she’s going to need more than a couple sacrifices. It’s going to be a bloodbath,” she said.

“Great, ritual slaughter on Halloween. Happy Holidays,” Charlie muttered.

“Any ideas on where Vanessa might try to pick up her victims?” Sam asked.

“No,” Victoria said. “That’s all I know. I’m sorry.”

“Charlie?” Dean asked.

“Large parties happening in town tomorrow,” Charlie said. “I’m on it.”

She reached for a red laptop on a nearby coffee table, and after five minutes, started spouting off venues.

“There’s a Halloween dance at the local high school,” she suggested.

Victoria shook her head.

“No, there’ll be too much security for Vanessa to walk in easily—she’s smart enough to avoid the risk,” she said.

“Ok,” Charlie said. “According to facebook, someone named Matt Franzen is hosting a kegger at his place.”

“Maybe,” Victoria said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

“Oh—” Charlie said. “What about this? There’s going to be a costume party in Woodland Park.”

“Where?” Victoria asked.

“It just says—on the hill by the old bridge,” Charlie read.

“That’s it,” Victoria said, voice firm. “Good symbolic significance there—Samhain’s an Irish god. The hill stands in for faerie hills or maybe even burial mounds. If I know my sister, that’s where she’ll be.”

“Excellent,” Dean said. “We’ll take it from here. Thanks for all your help, Victoria.”

“Wait a minute—you’re going to need me,” Victoria said. “I’ll be able to recognize Vanessa, even in costume. And I’ll be able to get us close to her. I assume you all have a plan after that.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding with a bit of a wince.

Victoria didn’t seem to notice his expression, or at least didn’t let it bother her.

“Great,” she said, standing. “I’m going home to research counter spells and some way to send Samhain back, should you fail. Not that I don’t trust you. It’s just—well, I don’t really have a reason to yet, do I?”

“We’ll meet you there,” Dean said, keeping most of the irritation out of his voice and rising after Charlie did to show Victoria out. “We’ll plan to get to the party an hour early to do some recon.”

Victoria followed Charlie back to the door, pausing at the threshold. “And I need you to know,” she said. “We aren’t all like Vanessa. Witches, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “But too many of you are.”

Victoria pursed her lips, but didn’t reply. She flashed a weak smile at the group before turning to leave.

“So,” Charlie said. “We have a who and a where. Now, I say, if we really want to blend in at this party, we’re going to need costumes! Ooh, coordinating ones would be great.”

Sam and Dean smiled at Charlie. Sam shook his head, but Dean’s eyes lit up.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

“ _Doctor Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog_?” Charlie said. “I look just like the girl who plays Penny.”

“Yeah, but I look nothing like Neil Patrick Harris or Nathan Fillion,” Sam said.

“God, you’re a nerd,” Dean said, shaking his head at Sam, who just rolled his eyes.

“Ok, then,” Charlie said. “Either of you boys ever seen _Firefly_?”

~ * ~  
_October 31st_

“Take us out of the world. Got us some crime to be done!” Dean said, pulling a pistol from the holster on his belt and aiming it at Sam.

“Dude, that thing’s _loaded_ ,” Sam complained.

“Yeah, but—the safety’s on,” Dean said, looking hurt. “C’mon, Sammy—how do I look? You gotta admit, I look pretty damn good, right? I mean, I pull off the space cowboy look well, don’t I?”

Sam glanced at Dean’s costume, a red shirt, khaki pants and suspenders, and a long, brown coat. Sam’s was less identifiable, as he wore black pants, a white button-up shirt with a black satin vest, and a tie.

“You are _way_ too excited about this costume thing, Dean,” Sam said with a longsuffering smile.

“Dude— _space pirates_ ,” Dean said, waving his (still loaded) gun. “What part of that isn’t exciting to you? I mean, you had to pick the stupidest character to dress up as. I still think you could’ve been Jayne. You’re tall enough, Sammy. You could’ve pulled off the hat.”

“I was not going to wear that hat, Dean,” Sam said. “Besides, I like Simon. He’s intelligent and loyal to his sister.”

Dean smirked.

“You _would_ like Simon,” he said. “He’s boring and a giant girl.”

“Yeah, say what you like, Dean,” Sam said. “After all, my costume goes with—”

“Charlie!” Dean called as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs wearing a flowy red dress and combat boots, her hair falling in loose waves around her.

“Ready to go, bitches?” Charlie asked, swaying so her skirt billowed around her a little.

“Charlie, you look every bit the kickass psychic assassin,” Dean said, offering Charlie his arm.

“Why, thank you, Dean,” Charlie said, looping her arm through his before grabbing Sam’s as well. “You sure do know how to compliment a girl.”

“Let’s go,” Sam said, leading the way toward the door. “And let me say one last time, I hope we’re prepared enough. I still don’t think marathoning _Firefly_ last night was the best way for us to spend our time.”

“Don’t be such a kill-joy, Sammy,” Dean said, rolling his eyes and turning to Charlie. “Now let’s crash us a Halloween party and gank the god of the dead!”

~ * ~

“Holy shit,” Dean said, staring at Victoria, stalking the perimeter of the party.

She wore a long black dress, her hair piled haphazardly on her head; dark shadow ringed her eyes, and she held a bent wand in her hand. She looked—good. Really good.

“You can say that again,” Charlie said.

Dean glanced over to see Charlie’s eyes tracking Victoria’s movement too.

“She makes a _fine_ Bellatrix Lestrange,” Charlie said, oblivious to Dean’s scrutiny.

“Hey, rookie,” Dean said, drawing her attention. “I get first dibs on all the hot chicks.”

“Since when?” Charlie demanded, hands on her hips.

“Since always. Didn’t you read the hunter’s handbook fine print? Besides, you got to bang the faerie chick a year or so ago,” Dean said.

“No,” Charlie countered. “I _almost_ got to bang ‘the faerie chick.’ I was interrupted, remember? And besides, I didn’t even think you were into Victoria. What was all that about witches being gross?”

“Hey, can’t a guy grow a little? I have seen the error of my ways. Besides, Victoria’s helping us out. Against her sister, I might add, which wins her extra points in my book. So, like I said: dibs.”

“What’s the matter, Winchester?” Charlie asked, her lips quirking into a smile. “Afraid of a little competition?”

“A-afraid?” Dean spluttered. “Oh, you are so on!”

Dean’s phone buzzed in his hand. He looked down to read a text from Sam.

 _Keep looking for the evil witch, not at the hot one_ , it said.

“Damn it, Sammy really is a kill joy,” Dean muttered.

He scanned the crowd to see Sam at the opposite end of the clearing, standing near the keg and fold-out table stacked with red solo cups. He held his arms crossed and was glaring at Dean and Charlie. Dean gave him an overly-friendly wave, and Sam rolled his eyes and fought to keep the smile off his face before turning back to study the crowd.

A dark-haired woman dressed as an Egyptian goddess caught Dean’s attention. She was whispering in the ear of a pimply, scrawny guy about four points less attractive than her. He was also totally sloshed, so that was just extra-suspicious. The girl (was she supposed to be Isis?) grabbed the guy’s hand and led him away from the party.

Dean pointed them out to Charlie and was about to follow them when his phone vibrated in his hand again, this time repeatedly. He held it to his ear without taking his eyes off the mismatched couple.

“Victoria?” he said.

“That’s her,” Victoria’s voice said through the speaker of his phone. “That’s Vanessa. She’s taking that boy into the trees.”

“On it,” Dean said. “Now, find someplace safe and lay low until we’ve taken care of her.”

Dean heard what sounded like a snort from the other end of the call.

“Yeah, I’ll see you when you catch up,” Victoria said before hanging up.

Dean sighed and turned to Charlie.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I could convince you to sit this one out?” he said.

“Oh, Dean,” Charlie said, ginning and patting him on the arm. “You know me so well.”

“Yeah, I thought as much,” Dean said with a sigh. “But at least try to keep your head low, okay, kiddo?”

When Charlie nodded, Dean turned back to Sam and caught his eye across the crowd. Dean jerked his heard toward the clump of trees Vanessa and pimple-guy had disappeared into a moment before. Sam dipped his head and started for the trees, his ridiculously long legs carrying him there before Dean and Charlie were half-way across the clearing.

By the time Dean and Charlie caught up with the rest of the group, Vanessa was standing on a flat boulder, the pimply guy on his knees before her. His eyes shone oddly in the moonlight. Sam was crouched behind a berry bush, waiting to rush at them. Victoria was nowhere to be seen.

Dean tapped Sam on the shoulder and mouthed, “Victoria?”

Sam just shrugged.

Dean gestured with two fingers for Sam to circle to the left to sneak up on Vanessa. Sam pulled his stake out of an inside pocket in his costume vest and, keeping low to the ground, rushed off in the direction Dean had pointed. Dean caught Charlie’s eyes and made his gaze sharp, warning her to stay put. Charlie sighed but settled in behind the bush. Then, Dean skirted to the right, mirroring Sam’s stealthy movements. As he slid into position, he heard Vanessa chanting something rhythmic and old. He couldn’t understand the language, but assumed it must be Gaelic.

Dean and Sam were lined up and waiting to make their move when Victoria stepped out of the trees from the opposite side of the park from where the party was still ranging.

“Vanessa,” she said.

The chanting stopped. Vanessa whirled around to face her sister.

“Victoria,” she said, waving her hand and flinging her sister against the trunk of an ancient oak tree.

Sam and Dean rushed out of their hiding places, Dean cursing under his breath. This was so not part of the plan! What happened to all the waiting they’d discussed?

Sam crouched down next to the glassy-eyed guy kneeling by Vanessa while her attention was split between her sister and the two men flanking her.

Sam’s proximity to what was probably going to be Vanessa’s first sacrifice made him her top priority.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, raising her hand, a crackling orb of electricity in her palm.

“Putting a stop to you, bitch,” Dean said, drawing Vanessa’s attention back to him.

He switched his stake to his other hand and drew his gun instead, aiming it at Vanessa’s head.

“Hey, c’mon, let’s get you out of here,” Sam whispered to the guy on the ground, dragging his unresisting form back into the trees while Vanessa was distracted.

Vanessa turned back to Sam and the pimply guy when they were maybe ten feet away, but Dean took that moment to pull the trigger. Vanessa’s head whipped around again, and the bullet hovered in the air three inches away from her forehead, still spinning.

“Oh, you adorable idiot,” she said, laughing.

The bullet turned, reversing its direction, then whizzed back at Dean, lodging itself in his right shoulder.

He let out one sharp cry at the impact before biting off the sound, and almost lost his balance, his hand dropping the stake. Aiming for subtlety, he turned his face to stare back at the bushes, where Charlie was most likely about to swoop in. He shook his head. The last thing they needed right now was her rushing out and getting herself killed. Miraculously, she actually listened to Dean, and stayed put. Or at least, he guessed so, since she didn’t come running out to save him.

Vanessa looked back in the direction Sam and pimple guy had disappeared.

“Well, looks like your partner took the vessel away. No matter—I’ll offer myself to Samhain,” she said, before freezing Dean’s feet in place and reverting back to her chanting.

After maybe a minute more of the lilting sounds and Dean struggling to stay upright, dizzy from blood loss, the wind in the forest picked up, sweeping between the trees. Dead leaves swirled on the ground, and those few still clinging to their tree branches rattled like bones. Vanessa kept chanting, but her words could barely be heard anymore over the roar of the wind.

The spell continued, a dark tear ripping in the air over Vanessa’s head, black smoke roiling beyond it.

It was almost time, Dean knew.

Slowly, hoping not to draw attention to himself, Dean reached down and retrieved his stake, wincing a bit as the motion sent fresh shock of pain through his shoulder.

Vanessa’s chanting and the wind reached a whole new pitch. It was past intense now—the wind deafening, tornado strong. The strange hole overhead widened, and then—silence.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Victoria groaned on the forest floor from where Vanessa had thrown her.

“Nessa,” she said, sitting up and leaning against the tree-trunk. “Stop. You can still stop this—this isn’t you.”

“You don’t know who I am, sister,” Vanessa said, her eyes gleaming in the night. “I’ve been waiting more than a hundred years for this. To bring Grace back. I would have thought you of all people would understand. Understand the bond between sisters. Understand a witch’s loyalty to our own kind.”

“Vanessa, you’re _not_ Gloria,” Victoria cried. “The Smith sisters have been dead years. Their time is up. But if you give this up now, you can still live your life.”

Vanessa shook her head, and smiled at her sister.

“It’s not my life anymore,” she said, then turned her face up to the hole overhead. “Samhain, come fill me with your spirit. Accept the offerings I have gathered for you nearby, and return Grace to life in this world.”

The moment Vanessa finished her speech, smoke poured out of the hole overhead, forcing itself down Vanessa’s open mouth. Vanessa’s body shuddered for a few seconds, then stilled. She drew herself up straighter, taller than before.

“You,” Samhain said through Vanessa’s mouth, staring at Victoria. “You tried to stop my return.”

“I-I,” Victoria stammered, pulling herself to her feet and taking a couple fearful steps backwards.

More smoke pouring from the seam in the sky drew everybody’s attention before Victoria could get very far. The smoke drifted to the ground and shifted, until it morphed into a woman with dark hair pulled back in a bun, wearing a long dress and a corset.

“This is one of my descendants,” the woman said, her voice cold and raspy. Inhuman. “Let me deal with her.”

“G-Grace?” Victoria asked.

“That’s right, dear. And your great-great auntie is very disappointed in you,” Grace Smith said, floating rather than walking toward Victoria.

Victoria held her arms out straight, palms toward Grace, and started blurting out a stream of fluid Latin. Grace simply laughed, and a moment later, Victoria hovered three feet of the ground. Her chanting stopped, and her hands clawed at her throat, fighting some invisible constriction.

“Let go of her, you bitch!” Charlie shouted, rushing out from behind the trees near Victoria.

“Dammit, Charlie,” Dean shouted. “Get back!”

But Charlie ran right at Grace, raising her stake meant for Samhain and aiming it at Grace’s chest. Grace simply nodded at Charlie, and the red-head doubled over, grinding her teeth against the moans of pain trying to slip out.

“Charlie!” Dean called, suddenly caught between checking on Charlie and staking Samhain like he was supposed to be doing at the moment.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice called from a couple yards away.

He reappeared, stake in hand, and running back to join the fray.

“Get Samhain, I’ll take care of Charlie,” he shouted.

Dean nodded, taking a step toward the god just as three more separate columns of smoke poured out of the seam in the sky.

“Dean Winchester,” Samhain said, studying him. “I admit, I had hoped you wouldn’t survive the Apocalypse. But I see now this is better. This way, I get to kill you myself.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean said. “That would be a neat trick. But it’ll be a bit hard once you’re dead and all, don’t you think?”

Samhain laughed, the sound harsh like a whip cracking, and almost indistinguishable as something meant to be mirthful.

“And what do you think _you_ could do that could kill _me_?” Samhain demanded.

“Well, I thought maybe this would do the trick,” Dean said, hefting his stake. “It’s elder wood.”

Dean took a purposeful step forward, but Samhain, shrieking, lashed out at him, back-handing him across the face with supernatural force. Dean flew three feet before crumpling to the ground.

“And you honestly believe you could get close enough to me to use it?” Samhain demanded, but her (his?) voice was shrill now. Furious, but maybe also—scared.

“No,” Dean said, shaking his head and wincing as the bullet still lodged in his shoulder shifted from the fall.

“But maybe I can,” Sam added from behind Samhain, driving his stake up and into Vanessa’s heart.

Samhain howled, black web-like veins popping out all over Vanessa’s skin. Vanessa-Samhain quaked again, Samhain’s cries still tearing out of Vanessa’s chest. And then, with a crack of thunder, Samhain fell to the ground.

Sam and Dean turned back to where Grace Smith was advancing on Charlie (who stood in front of Victoria, shielding her) in Sam’s absence.

When her Master died, Grace seemed to sense it. She whirled around, taking in the sight. Her eyes bulged.

“No,” she muttered. “It’s not fair. It’s _not fair_!”

The smoke in the sky-seam whirled even faster now. Shrill screeches like bat calls drifted from the hole now. The forms of three people that were starting to solidify from the smoke columns reverted back to their ethereal state, and were pulled back into the tear above the group.

Grace Smith’s features began to blur. She stared at her hands that transformed back to wisps of smoke as she watched, helpless. Then she too lost her body, became a column of smoke again, and was pulled back into the seam, her shrill “no’s” the last thing Dean heard before the tear closed without leaving a trace of its existence behind.

Sam, Dean, Charlie, and Victoria converged in an awkward huddle by the boulder where Vanessa’s body lay, Samhain dead inside her. Victoria stared down at her sister’s corpse.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked her.

Victoria looked up at him.

“No,” she said, her eyes unfocused, maybe a little shocky. “But I think I will be. Vanessa made a choice to do this—and even then, she had every chance to back out. She chose a dead woman and a god over me, so I guess she wasn’t really my sister to begin with.”

“Yeah, really, I mean—ow, ow,” Charlie said, doubling over again beside Victoria and breathing a little shallower.

“Charlie?” Dean said, reaching for her hand.

Charlie latched onto it with a death grip.

“Talk to me, kiddo,” Deans said. “What hurts?”

Charlie pointed to her right side.

Sam crouched down beside Charlie, lifting the hem of her shirt up a little and prodding gently above her waist. He winced and turned back to Dean.

“It looks like she cracked a couple ribs,” he said.

“Always an adventure hanging out with you two,” she said, her voice too faint for Dean’s liking.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Victoria said.

Charlie’s head snapped up, and she stared at Victoria.

“It was when Grace went after you,” Victoria said, reaching out to stroke Charlie’s cheek. “When you were trying to save me.”

“Oh, well,” Charlie said, blushing. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for damsels in distress.”

“You pretty much saved my life,” Victoria said. “I—I know a couple spells that might be able to help you. I could take the pain away, at least.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” Charlie said, face lighting up.

“No, of course not,” Victoria said. “It is quite literally, the least I could do. Of course, you’d have to come back to my place—”

“Can you drive us?” Charlie asked.

Victoria smiled at her, and threaded her arm behind Charlie’s back, helping the bent-over girl stumble back toward the park trail.

“Hey, uh, technically, killing Samhain is what got rid of Grace and saved your life. So, really, it’s Sammy and me that saved your life,” Dean said.

“Thank you,” Victoria said, without turning around.

“Also, don’t know if you noticed or not, but I got _shot_ ,” Dean added.

This time, Victoria did pause and turn around.

“You three drove yourselves here, right?” Victoria said. When Dean nodded, she continued. “I’d suggest you have your brother drive you to a hospital and take a look at that shoulder wound.”

Charlie smirked back at Dean over her shoulder, tossing him a final wink before she and Victoria disappeared from sight.

“Dude, that is _not fair_ ,” Dean said, unconsciously echoing Grace Smith.

“I know,” Sam said with a laugh, grabbing Dean’s arm to steady him as they headed back toward the Impala.

“How does Charlie get all the hot chicks?” Dean grumbled, then glanced at Sam. “And I always end up with you.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Please, you could do worse. Besides, I’ll have you know, you’re in excellent hands. I was a top trauma surgeon on Osiris,” he said with a grin.

Dean groaned.

“No! Okay, yeah, I’ll take you, Sammy, over Simon Tam any day.”

“Then in that case,” Sam said. “I sense dental floss and whiskey in your future.”

“Lead the way,” Dean said, gesturing with his non-wounded arm at the trail ahead.

~ * ~  
_November 1st_

“Charlie, always a pleasure,” Sam said, hugging her goodbye the next morning as the group stood by the Impala again.

“Sam, you know I’ll miss you,” Charlie returned, squeezing him before letting go and turning to Dean.

Sam tactfully strode over to the trunk and re-packed their bags, giving Charlie and Dean a moment together.

“Dean, how’s that shoulder?” Charlie asked.

“Not too sore for a hug, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dean said.

Charlie beamed and stepped towards him, wrapping her arms tight around his waist.

Dean kissed the top of her head before releasing her and taking a step back.

“I don’t even want to ask what time you got home last night,” Dean said, studying the shadows under Charlie’s eyes.

“I can honestly say Halloween may be my new favorite holiday,” Charlie said.

Dean groaned.

“Okay, okay, I don’t need the details,” he said, his eyes crinkling for a moment before his face sobered. “Look, Charlie, how are you doing now that this whole case is over? Really doing? I mean, seeing your mom again so soon after—”

“I’ll be fine,” Charlie said, cutting him off. “Really. Look, it wasn’t easy. And yeah, I think part of me was hoping maybe—maybe I’d get to see her again, and that’s obviously not happening now that Samhain’s dead. But—well, you guys were here. So it wasn’t so bad. I mean, you’re kind of my family now, so—”

Dean interrupted Charlie by pulling her into a deep hug, holding her flush against his chest.

“Ah, Dean,” she gasped. “Ribs!”

“Sorry,” he said, releasing her immediately.

“No worries,” she said, smoothing her shirt. “Victoria took care of it mostly.”

Sam shoved the trunk closed and crossed over to the driver’s side of the Impala, climbing in without even glancing at Dean.

“I guess that means he’ll be driving until he’s satisfied my shoulder’s healed up,” Dean said. “But Charlie, don’t be a stranger. You’re welcome at the bunker anytime. After all, it’s not really home until the whole family’s there.”

“Dean,” Charlie said, grinning and punching him in the arm, pulling her hand back to take a quick swipe at a trickle of moisture running from her left eye. “You’re such a girl.”

Dean winced at the blow, then laughed when Charlie’s eyes went wide, staring at his wounded shoulder. He opened the passenger door of the Impala and slid in, glancing up at Charlie before closing the door.

“You be good, okay?” he said.

“Oh, Dean,” Charlie said with a sigh and a wicked grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Dean shook his head and closed the door. Sam glanced over at him, and when Dean nodded, he turned the key in the ignition.

“Home?” Sam asked, meeting Dean’s eye with another one of his Worried expressions.

“Home,” Dean agreed, as the Impala rumbled away.

Dean glanced back in the rearview mirror at the end of the street to see Charlie still standing on the curb, waving.

“We’ll see her again soon,” Sam promised, as if reading Dean’s emotions.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “No way that girl’s staying out of trouble.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really a huge fan of case fic, and I totally didn't mean to write one. This was all supposed to be a Dean & Charlie friendship romp, but I got the idea of them dressing up as Firefly characters lodged in my brain, so naturally it had to be Halloween. And then the case idea happened, and this emerged. Ah well, the Firefly thing still happened, so I guess I shouldn't complain...


End file.
